


Strait, Mostly Silent

by nopasanada (FinalCajaNegra)



Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Translation in English
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-09 22:11:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11678097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FinalCajaNegra/pseuds/nopasanada
Summary: What if Gibson never used "Psst" to catch Tommy's attention?And with Soulmate AU.





	Strait, Mostly Silent

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [海峡，基本沉默](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11674458) by [nopasanada (FinalCajaNegra)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FinalCajaNegra/pseuds/nopasanada). 



> *Spoilers alert! Please make sure read after you've watched this film.*
> 
> Alternate Universe: People will get this soulmate-identifying marks on their wrists on a random day, with contents of "what the soulmate says to them for the first time since the mark forms". When one of them dies, the others' marks fade out within seven days.

_So this is the end._

Tommy thinks to himself.

Stukas’ unique, deadly siren wails above. Bombs explode on the beach, deafening, muting all other sounds. On that very moment, Tommy could only hear his inner voice.

_Will my soulmate lose the mark? Or did they not even have the chance to get one?_

Tommy genuinely hopes for latter. The least thing he needs is one more person breaking their heart over him. 

 

* * *

 

“Is this why you are entering the service? To fight for his country?” The army doc, holding the enlistment physical examination paper, asks while copying the text onto it.

Tommy doesn’t answer, but slightly rotates his wrist, making sure the contents of the mark are all readable.

“I won’t record. It’s not for the records. We only check the contents, and limited on those in foreign languages. I’m just trying to chat, you know?” After finishing the contents column, doctor starts on a new line to write down the translation, “I’m so glad your soulmate seems like a frank guy, which saves me a lot of trouble. This lad on the other day? A ‘DON’T SHOOT’ is on his left wrist, in King’s English, yet with a same sentence, only in Jerry’s, on the right side.”

“Was he qualified?” Tommy feels curious.

Doc puts down a few last words, handing the paper over to Tommy, “Take this. You are qualified. Him? Definitely no. His Majesty’s Armed Forces cannot take any risk that is soulmates related. It’s always this way all along history, ever since war existed.”

Tommy nods and takes the paper, “One of the reasons. The other is to protect my own country.”

 

“Do you really have a fiancé back in Manchester? And she is your soulmate?” The lad sitting across, sipping rum, asks unbelievably.

The private sitting on Tommy’s left, who looks even more like a boy than him, chokes down a mouthful of canned corned beef, then nods affirmatively.

“Soulmate fiancé? Lucky for you. You all know how hard it is to find your soulmate during war times? Not to mention the lack of marks for many people.” Rum lad grows interest.

“Of course. One case is one’s soulmate may pass away before they could get a mark, considering high death rate. Anyway, I promised to myself, I’ll never let her experience what happened to my sister.”

“What happened to your sister?” Tommy persists.

“The other case.” He looks sullen, “She and her husband were soulmates, much like me and my Janie. But my brother-in-law died in the first few weeks of the war.”

“My sister knew before the words arrived. She woke up in that morning, panicking to show mom and me the rapidly fading mark. Mom comforted her, saying it was only illusion of her worry anxiety. But then the next day, everyone could tell the mark was growing dim.” An unusual sadness forms in his eyes, “Sis went into a complete meltdown. For several days there was nothing she could do but staring the mark gradually died out.”

“And that, is the reason we are kicking the Jerry’s butt home as soon as we arrive the Continent, and I’m going back Manchester safe and sound, marrying my Janie with mom and sis as witnesses.” He says in a tough, determined tone. Rum lad and Tommy both agreed in excitement.

Soon afterwards, though, the very same sorrow again shrouds him, “I only wish this could cheer up sis.”

 

Running away from streets to perimeter, following straight into beach, Tommy never turned back to look at any of the fallen. Tommy feels like answering nature’s call, thirsty, worn out, and missing home. That is why he only silently offers help when seeing the private burying this body, with no second thought nor any question. Neither does the lad shovelling sand say a word. Both of them show exact same exhaust.

Tommy has a glance at the man’s name tag when fetching canteen.

_His name is Gibson._

Tommy doesn’t ask Gibson about the body.

Shot down by ground troops is not much different from bombed up by air force. Tommy shall not tell Gibson about the five fallen behind who can never be home, let alone this one lying under sands.

Not to say he is too tired, nor does Gibson look like having the strength to talk.

 

* * *

 

Stukas’ screaming sounds away. Tommy rises from ground, patting down some sands, and finds it hard to believe his good luck.

He steps over stretchers left on ground. He figures it harder to believe when noticing that conscious wounded. Tommy glances back and meets Gibson. Needless to say, both takes off their jackets lifting up the stretcher.

_There is a silent understanding between Gibson and him._

The thought quickly crosses Tommy’s mind, sooner replaced by expectancy of boarding on a medical evacuation ship.

 

His good luck seems run out. Tommy turns to leave the ship, not bothering hiding his frustration. That’s when he suddenly hears deep, firm rattle from the bottom.

“Knock, knock, knock.”

Tommy’s sight moves down, right caught by Gibson’s gaze. His eyes is reflecting light on the surface of the wave, almost shinning themselves. Noticing Tommy’s attention, Gibson tilts his head as an invitation. Under no further consideration, Tommy follows him climbing to his place, steadily rests between two pillars.

Hearing the talk between the commanders above, Tommy instantly wants to exchange looks with Gibson. However Gibson holds a calm expression, as if the conversation meaning nothing to him.

Tommy finds it rather comforting.

 

* * *

 

Alex, as he claims his name himself, only remembers to thank Tommy pulling him up just in time when chewing jam bread.

“In return, though, I didn’t expose you and your friend. Guess we shall call it even.” Alex grins, holding his cup high.

Tommy, also raising a cup, curves up a tiny smile on his lip in return.

After the last man enters, the cabin door is sealed. Alex pulls back his eyes from it.

“Your friend, he didn’t follow.” He appears not to get this. Surely. In the cabin there is food and beverage, chatting and laughing soldiers, pleasant, light atmosphere. It almost feels like they have already crossed the strait, backing on British Islands.

Alex thinks Tommy would understand Gibson’s thoughts. Tommy agrees, so he gives an answer.

 

Torpedo-struck cabin is rushed in with water within several breaths. Tommy attempts to swim to the upper direction in his memory, but dark seawater mingles with dusk night all around.

After centuries-like dozens of seconds, dim light sparkles from not far distance, which is enough good for Tommy. He holds all his strength swimming towards that direction.

Only when Alex’s head also pops up from the surface right after his, does Tommy notices it’s the cabin door. Not knowing who the hero is, he adjusts with heavy inhalation, mutely thanking this brave fella. Alex and he splash to approach rescuing boats with the help from life vests.

 

Gibson leans against the stern. As Tommy gets near, he sticks out his already dried fingers to wrap around Tommy’s wet palm, tries to pull him up. But the soldier next to him irritably shoots off Tommy’s hand.

Alex and Tommy float ups and downs in the sea, waiting for soldiers on the boat come to a conclusion.

Gibson doesn’t stand out to speak for them.

Yet when the boat is heading to the shore, Gibson swiftly cast a rope to them. Alex and Tommy immediately hold on tight to it.

 

* * *

 

Sitting on the beach, Tommy only finds himself even more exhausted than the last time. Gibson, right next to him, and Alex, a bit far away, appear to be so as well.

None of the three is in a mood for chatting. That lively chatting cabin has drown into deep blue sea, taking loads of laughing, happy soldiers with it. All of those seem like long ago.

So they just sit and stare at that soldier who abandons his burden and walking into the sea in total silence.

 

Tommy manages to cut a hole on the metal canteen, tries to drink the last drops of water. Gibson, on his opposite, reaches out his arms. Tommy saves some water, handing it to him.

Alex spots a group of Scots, calls the two of them to join.

Gibson and he follow up side by side.

 

* * *

 

When Alex questions Gibson, Tommy defends him without hesitation, but Alex then grabs a gun pointing it at Gibson.

“You wanna go home? Then this is the price.” Alex tells Tommy so. He is now hesitating, turning towards Gibson, opening up his mouth.

_Just let him say any words from King’s English. Make him prove he is not a German spy._

But before Tommy could make any sound, Gibson interrupts, “Français. Je suis français.”

For a moment, Tommy even stops breathing. He does not know what to speak. Just at his abstraction, Alex, acting on impulse, has already rushed up to tear the name tag chain around Gibson’s neck.

“Frog. Bloody frog. Coward, weakling frog. ‘Gibson’? That’s not your name huh? You must’ve stolen these chain and clothes from the real Gibson.”

Tommy wants to step forward and pull Alex away from Gibson. But with only one step, Alex, on his very tension, suddenly turns to look at him. Gibson takes his shot, throw the muzzle to point at the deck above.

 

That’s where seawater pours in more violently.

Soldiers who were surrounding the scene spread around the bullet holes, trying to stop ocean from swallowing this tiny ship with their bare hands.

That is meant to be impossible. Tommy, standing right next to the ladders, realises Scots are escaping for their lives in succession. He glances over to the other side of the cabin, ready to alert Gibson and Alex, when he finds Alex patting on Gibson’s shoulder to leave.

Alex climbs out the ladders. Tommy follows up. By this moment the cabin is almost filled up, Tommy takes one last deep breath, turns his head back to check on Gibson.

The colour of sea water is even darker than the last wreck during night. The most body parts of Gibson are already invisible, only two hands waving dreadfully. Tommy, not knowing what happened, only subconsciously grabs his hands.

 

By this time, Alex already notices Tommy’s not trailing. He does this thing that no matter how many times he asks in the future, Tommy is never able to get a motive out of Alex. Alex, with his body tilting a bit, crosses one arm around Tommy’s torso from the back, leading him up to the surface.

Almost instantly, both Alex and him feels resistance from Gibson’s direction. Tommy guesses he is twined by some stuffs in the cabin. The three of them aren’t able to move an inch. Tommy doesn’t want let go of those hands in his palms, but Alex is getting panicked.

The chest resists on his back trembles for a little while, feeling like Alex has choked down some seawater. Though Tommy’s gaze is caught by Gibson’s wrists at the moment. Even through this turbid seawater, Tommy distinctively notices these are two wrists way too clean, with no single mark on them at all, identical to those who are unfortunately enough, or in such war decades, fortunately enough, to not have a soulmate.

Tommy can hardly says he understands. But palms in his arms stopped struggling long ago, Alex’s face is turning suffocated purple red next to him.

 

Thus Tommy gently lifts Gibson’s hand, plant his own lips on bugling veins on those wrists.

Later he turns over, left arm crossing Alex’s armpit, holding onto his shoulder blade, floating all the way up with him to the air.

 

* * *

 

This blonde boy firmly pulls Tommy’s hand. Seawater waved by the boat washes his eyes; Sea-wind breezed by the boat brushes his nose. This time, no one is shooting off his hands.

The saved soldiers on Moonstone are mostly covered in dark oil. Tommy somehow is still able to figure out Alex among all the crowd, and exchanges a glance with him.

Later on he lower his eyes to fix to those several French words on his wrists. Only dozens of minutes past, the mark has already growing visibly faint.

_Even his name was not Gibson._

Couple of hours later, when waking up across to Alex on the train, Tommy shall find the mark is too dim to read without a really close careful look. By that time, he shall vaguely realise it takes a lot shorter than seven days for his marks to fade away.

So this is the end.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry about my poor English.
> 
> Not sorry about "Gibson" died not knowing he actually had a soulmate, who just never got a chance to talk to him.
> 
> Please kindly point out any possible typos, grammar mistakes sorta thing for me. You will be appreciated.


End file.
